


Nightfall

by AeonDelirium



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonDelirium/pseuds/AeonDelirium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In the end, when the lights were out and their aching bodies hidden beneath the covers, it was still the same old fears hanging in the air like a musty smell." </p>
<p>Three different perspectives, three brief glimpses, no real conclusions. Set some time during DH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightfall

"Lucius." He had no love for the man, he realised, and it made him feel nothing at all. They walked together for a little while as darkness encroached on the castle. He could feel the sideways glances, those quick, jerky movements of the head, more reminiscent of a mouse than the peacock he had used to be. There was no worry in those glances, no sympathy. Only uncertainty. They were all afraid, Severus realised, and the thought went to an empty space somewhere in the centre of his heart, the tiny bit of nothingness that would kill him one blessed day.

"H-how," the other man began, his stutter a pitiful parody of the smooth melody that once had been his voice. He had let himself go, had dragged his tired body along as he descended deeper into grief and loathing. They had all become shadows of their former selves, all except for Severus, who had always dressed in shades of misery and worn his hatred on his sleeve. Darkness prevails.

"He is alive and well." Severus responded to the question he had, though unspoken, heard a thousand times. Only after a few more steps did he realise that Lucius had fallen behind. He stopped. Whether it was politeness that bade him not turn around or mere indifference he could not have said, and did not care to say. His face remained unchanged as he listened to the sound of a proud man finding his true face, a ragged sob that echoed along the dark stone walls.

"Thank you," the man managed weakly, and Severus waited calmly as his footsteps moved away. He had no love for the man, he realised, and no hate, no anger and no concern. And it was the saddest thing he had ever dismissed without a second thought.

 

* * *

  

“He is well,” Lucius breathed. “Alive and well, he said. Alive and well.” They held each other in the dusty darkness of the hallway for a moment, forever careful not to put all of their tired weight into the embrace. Sometimes he wished she would, just so he could feel her, all of her, to know she was still whole. What he could feel was the wetness of her face on the moth-eaten silk of his shirt, and the heartbeat in her throat as she lay her head on his shoulder.

“Will they let us see him?” He buried his hands in her hair and remained silent as her body tensed against his. “Lucius,” she said quietly. “Will they let us see him?” The great crystal chandelier lit up at a whispered word, but it was not what he had been hoping to say. Gently, he took her slender wrists and a step back to look at her face. She turned her head away, too late to hide the circles around her eyes and the bloodlessness of her lips.

“Will they let me see my son?” she whispered, now trying to free herself from his grip, but it was little more than a fly throwing itself against the window. “When will they let me see him?”

He had to kiss her then, her hot tears mingling with the cold sweat on his skin as she clawed at his chest, then wrapped her arms around him to pull him closer, a futile attempt at oblivion.

In the end, when the lights were out and their aching bodies hidden beneath the covers, it was still the same old fears hanging in the air like a musty smell. He bore the brief moment of perfect silence with what dignity was left to him.

“Alive and well,” he said finally, and they clasped their hands together and closed their eyes, pretending to sleep another night.

 

* * *

 

The green and blue reflections from the windows made the dark canopy above him appear to move. Draco always slept with the curtains open now, just so he could hear the others breathe calmly in their sleep. He could not stand his own heartbeat when he lay awake in silence, the dark thumping incessantly reminding him that one day it would stop. Sometimes he woke in the silent hours of the morning and slid slender hands underneath the cool satin of the blanket, just so he could feel the pulse against his fingers.

The lake sloshed quietly against the glass, and there was the faint rumble of thunder in the distance, muffled and distorted through the black water.

He listened to Goyle’s gurgling breath and Zabini’s mumbled gibberish and felt his fingers curl into fists with how much he despised every single one of them. They lay safe and sound asleep, while night after night he struggled with sickening memories that kept resurfacing. He shivered.

There were nights when he wondered if all of this would end, and when. If there would be a final uprising, or if this was truly it. There were nights when he wondered if they had already won. Those were the nights when he imagined getting up and walking over to the windows on tiptoes.

He would only have to break a single pane before he went back to bed, and wait for the sound of the rushing water to lull him into a calm, cold slumber.


End file.
